


Damage and Deception

by Fandom_Overload7890



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Amputee Anatole, Angst, Betrayal, Fighting, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, PJO AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 14:53:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11900058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Overload7890/pseuds/Fandom_Overload7890
Summary: Anatole couldn't believe what was happening. He couldn't believe that he had been lied to for so long.





	Damage and Deception

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a gift for the wonderful quicksilver-ace! This takes place in the pjo au and for more information you can check my tumblr (@caven---malore) or hers (@quicksilver-ace)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters

There were so many of them. Hundreds of people lined up at the top of Half Blood Hill. They stood shoulder to shoulder, armor pressed against armor. Shields blocked him from seeing the armor that must have been covering their torsos. Canons and large structures that looked like slingshots loomed over the troops and cast a shadow over the hill. They were huge and could probably take out huge chunks of camp if used. They could probably take out large numbers of campers, too. If the Roman soldiers didn’t finish everyone off first. 

Anatole didn’t doubt that the Romans would finish everyone off. By the looks of them, they were clearly capable. Anatole felt dread sink into his stomach. He loved camp, his friends, his family, but Anatole wasn’t ready to die. But it didn’t matter. This was bigger than him. As much as Anatole didn’t want to die for a summer camp (the only safe place he could live) Helene and Dolokhov would. And Anatole would die for them.

Anatole took a glance at Dolokhov. If his friend was having the same thoughts, he didn’t look it. That made sense. Dolokhov was the son of Ares. He lived and breathed war. Fighting like this was second nature to him, it was his demigod gift. Dolokhov was made for this. 

Fedya caught his eye. “Are you okay?” Anatole licked his lips. He couldn’t abandon everyone. As much as he wanted to keep breathing, he couldn’t just go. Helene and Dolokhov were here. He needed to be here in case they needed help.

“Fine. Just… Nervous. You know I’m not much for fighting,” Dolokhov nodded. It was true. Anatole was the son of Aphrodite. His mother gifted him with good looks and persuasiveness, nothing good in a fight. That wasn’t to say that Anatole couldn’t hold his own against monsters. Monsters were usually just unchecked rage and desire. Good for charmspeaking. Trained soldiers on the other hand, they were driven by purpose. Charmspeak worked better when he knew what the other person wanted, and finding out what every soldier wanted while in hand to hand combat was hard to say the least. 

Anatole allowed himself half a smile. “But I’ll have you to back me up,” and he bumped his shoulder into Dolokhov’s. Dolokhov, who started to look how Anatole was feeling. His mouth was drawn into a hard line. His shoulders were hunched and his brows were furrowed. Anatole tapped him. No response. He tapped again. “Dolokhov. Dolokhov. Fedya!” he finally turned around and looked at Anatole. 

“What? What’d you say?” Anatole shook his head at his friends antics. Dolokhov was always spacing out. Anatole had asked him about it once and Fedya had just responded with a vague “thinking about home”. 

“I said, I have you to back me up,” Dolokhov looked sick. He rubbed his hands against his adidas pants and took a deep breath. 

“No, you won’t,” the hint of a smile fell off Anatole’s face. 

“What are you talking about?” The sinking feeling in his stomach came back in full force. Dolokhov took a step away from him. 

“You won’t have me to back you up.”

“Why not? Are you deserting? Are you abandoning camp?” Anatole couldn’t believe this. His never walk away from a fight friend was going to leave right when he needed him most. What an asshole. Had these months at camp meant nothing to him? Had Anatole meant nothing to him? 

“No, I’m not,” Dolokhov looked sorry. He should be. He was abandoning Helene, Pierre, Sonya, Anatole. Dolokhov moved to stand directly in front of Anatole. “I’m fighting for my camp.” 

Suddenly everything fell into place. Why Dolokhov knew so much about being a demigod. Why camp didn’t freak him out. Why he knew so much about fighting. Was so curious about camp. He was working for the Romans.

Anatole wanted to scream. This whole time his friend had been lying to him. Stringing him along and using him for information. It felt like he was stabbed in the chest, like his heart was being shredded into pieces. Anatole thought he had made a friend. Someone who saw through the dumb blonde pretty boy act, and saw Anatole underneath. But he had been wrong. Dolokhov had been doing nothing but pretending to be his friend, using him. Had he been faking the whole time? Had he ever actually cared? 

Somewhere in the distance Anatole registered the charging of troops. The fighting had started. Dolokhov lunged. 

Dolokhov’s axe gleamed in the sunlight. Anatole brought up his sword to block the blow. The weapons connection made the sword vibrate in Anatole’s hands. He fought the urge to drop the weapon. 

Dolokhov moved the axe again and made a move to slice at Anatole’s left side. Anatole blocked again. And that’s how it went. Dolokhov on the offense while Anatole took defense. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to beat the son of Ares. Dolokhov was a natural born fighter and Anatole could barely keep up when they spared. But then, Dolokhov hadn’t been actually trying to hurt him. Now, Dolokhov was aiming to wound, if not kill, and Anatole wouldn’t be able to stop him. All he could hope for was that someone would come over and help. But that dream was slipping away by the second. 

Their weapons locked. Dolokhov twisted his axe and Anatole’s sword flew out of his hands. They both watched it go. Anatole looked at Dolokhov, waiting for the finishing blow. Nothing happened. Fedya, instead, reslung his axe over his back. 

Anatole scowled. “Well, what are you waiting for traitor?” Dolokhov looked away. If Anatole didn’t know better, he almost looked... guilty. 

“Will you believe I never wanted to hurt you?” Anatole clenched his teeth and snorted. What was the point in lying? Did he think that was going to magically fix all the betrayal? The lying?

“No,” Dolokhov sighed and unholstered his gun. There it was, what Anatole had been waiting for. His best friend (his crush) was going to finish him off. Dolokhov angled the gun at him, but instead of aiming at his chest he pointed it down towards his left leg. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He took the shot. Dolokhov had always been such a good shot. 

Agony exploded in Anatole’s calf. His leg buckled and Anatole collapsed onto the ground. The entry hole burned, Anatole had the urge to scratch it. To dig his fingers into the wound and pull the bullet out. He didn’t though, his hands just roamed around his leg, avoiding touching anywhere near the hole in his leg. There was a hole in his leg. It was the worst pain Anatole had ever felt in his life. He had been stabbed accidentally by a Helene’s dagger before, and it didn’t hold a candle to this. All of his nerves were on fire. Anatole let out a low moan, but he could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. Somewhere in the distance he could hear faint fighting and he glanced up, hoping, praying to whatever g-d was listening, that there was someone near by. All he saw was the stretch of battle and Dolokhov, walking away into the haze of fighting.

Anatole rolled over as much as he could. He didn’t want to see Dolokhov, that traitor, the guy who shot him. His leg jostled slightly at the movement. Anatole screamed. He wished his leg was gone. He wanted it gone. Why was the pain so bad? He knew that a gunshot wound would hurt, but it shouldn’t hurt this much. Why did it hurt this much? Then a memory rose from the depths of Anatole’s mind. A conversation with Dolokhov. He had had a Hephaestus kid put poison on the bullets. “To make it worse for any monster that dares mess with with me.” But Anatole wasn’t a monster. He was just-- 

Agony. The pain spiked. Anatole could barely think. The sounds of battle were closer. Through the pain Anatole had one clear thought. He had to move. He couldn’t stay here. 

So Anatole shifted onto his stomach. His leg flared again. This time, Anatole clenched his teeth and moved onto his elbows. His hands couldn’t stop shaking, tears leaked from his eyes.He started army crawling towards the forest line. The bullet wound dragged across the grass. Anatole let out a sob, he paused for a second to catch his breath. It hurt so bad. Anatole just wanted to curl up in a ball and wait for help. He wanted to cut his leg off. The sounds of battle got louder. He had to keep moving. 

So he kept going. One arm in front of the other. One. Two, Three. Four. Five. A break. Deep breaths to help manage the pain and calm himself down. Three seconds to convince himself to keep going. He had no idea how long this went on. Blackness clawed at the edge of his vision. His whole body was racked with violent shaking. He was soaked with sweat and tears. Anatole was pretty sure he was hyperventilating. He could feel the blood rushing to his leg and leak onto the grass. The previous blood had dried against this ankle. Thinking about it made Anatole gag. The blood loss was making him dizzy. The urge to scratch the entry wound rose up again. He lightly pressed his fingers against the back of his knee. The pain in response crashed over him so intensely Anatole almost vomited onto the grass. If he just made it to the tree line he could finally pass out. Anatole kept going. 

Finally he could touch a root of a tree. He wrapped his hand around it and started to cry even harder. He laid down and pressed his face into the grass. He could feel dirt clinging to his tear tracks, which normally would have made Anatole freak out, but now came as a relief. He closed his eyes. The pain in his calf consumed all sense of time. He could have been laying there for seconds or hours. He might have even blacked out. 

At some point he heard shouting. He was probably imagining it, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping it was someone coming to help him. Then, there was someone leaning next to him. 

“Anatole? Anatole?” She sounded hysterical. “Anatole?” Anatole let out a groan. She gave a sob of relief. “Thank the G-ds you’re alive. Will! Someone! Please! Help him!” There was more people. They rushed around him, talking to each other but Anatole couldn’t bring himself to listen. The girl was running her hands through his hair. Anatole wanted to protest she was messing it up, but it felt too good. It was relaxing him. He could feel himself falling asleep, or he could he passing out, it didn’t matter. But right before he did, he recognized who she was. 

“Sonya,” and he was gone. 

 

The world was blurry when Anatole opened his eyes. The world was comprised of shapes and colors. But he still recognized where he was. The infirmary. That made sense. The sheets were scratchy and it smelled like ambrosia. He wiggled his toes against bed frame. Wait, where were his toes? Why could he only wiggle the toes on one foot? 

Anatole lurched up. There was instantly pounding in his head. He couldn’t see for a moment do to a head rush. A hand pushed him back down. He shoved it away. He had to check his leg. He needed to see what happened to his toes. The hand reappeared. It pushed him down harder and pinned him to the cot.

“Anatole! Anatole, stop!” It was Helene. She was pushing him down. Keeping him from seeing his toes. Why would she do that? Anatole’s throat felt like it was closing. 

“Helene, stop.” She hesitantly took her hands off his chest. She looked frazzled. There was hair coming out of her bun. He clothes were wrinkled, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup or jewelry. Anatole had never seen his sister like this. “Helene... what happened?” 

She sighed and started to fidget with the hem of her shirt. Helene had never kept up the facade of aloofness around him, so Anatole knew that fidgeting didn’t mean anything good. “After all the fighting ended, Sonya found you near the woods. You were shot in the leg. The bullet, it was covered in poison. It had been in you too long, there was nothing left to do but…” She took another deep breath. Anatole felt his heart constrict. “Cut it off.” 

All the air rushed out of Anatole’s lungs. He had suspected but some foolish part of him didn’t quite believe it. Even though he had wished that someone would cut if off while he was laying in the woods, he didn’t mean it. With a shaking hand, Anatole moved the covers. There was a stump of his leg, amputated from the thigh down. The back of his throat started to ache and his vision became watery. 

“No, no, no, no!” He grabbed at where his calf should be. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. Anatole couldn’t slow his breathing. He was disfigured. No one wanted someone with one leg. He was ugly. The one thing he had, the one thing that gave him value, was gone. He was disgusting and ugly. He started crying harder. He grabbed at the sheets, pulling at them. That’s where his leg should be where is his leg where is his leg where is his leg his leg his leghisleg- 

Arms wrapped around him. Helene pressed her chin into his head. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. You hear me? Everything will be fine. You’re fine,” she was whispering to him. Calming him down. She rocked him slowly while she talked, and slowly his breathing started to slow down. Eventually she moved his hands away from the empty space. 

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, Helene cupped her hands around his face and looked him in the eye, “Anatole, you’re still beautiful. This, this, changes nothing. You are just as handsome with one leg as you are two. This doesn’t make you any less desirable. This doesn’t make you worth any less. Do you hear me? You are not worth any less,” Anatole sniffed. He tried to move his head to look away but Helene wouldn’t let him. “Anatole, do you understand?” He nodded. Helene hugged him again and moved back into her seat. 

They sat in silence like that for an hour and a half, Helene reading a magazine and sneaking looks at Anatole, and Anatole staring at the sheets where his missing leg should be laying. It was Anatole who broke the silence first. 

“It was Fedya,” Anatole could hear her put down the magazine but he still didn’t look up. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. “He shot me. He’s working for the Romans. Did you know that?” 

“I do,” Anatole finally looked up at her. 

“How long?” Helene pursed her lips. There was a long pause before she answered. 

“During the fight. I saw him fighting with the other side. I fought him,” she stopped and looked down. She used to do that when their dad would yell at her. She didn’t want Anatole to see whatever emotion was written across her face.

“And?” She looked back up at him. 

“And I kicked his ass.” 

They went back to silence. 

“Helene?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I wanna kick his ass too,” she picked her magazine back up. 

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this please leave a comment or kudos! I live off them. If you want to scream about great comet with me you can find me on tumblr at @caven---malore


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